Long In the bag Poems
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I’ve seen the Golden Globe awards,
The People’s Choice, the SAG,
Which lets us know, for Oscar night,
Which prize is in the bag.
The only one real obvious,
Consensus is a factor,
Is Lincoln’s star, Day-Lewis,
Who’s a shoo-in for best actor.
The rest are up for grabs, I guess,
With choices to compare;
The question is, at this late date,
If anyone could care.
We’ve watched the actors strut their stuff,
With glamour gowns galore,
Or tuxes, as the case may be,
But it’s been done before.
The Oscars show, once all the rage,
In sequence comes in last.
We’ve heard the speeches, seen the tears
And all that hype has passed.
Of course, I’ll watch the show tonight,
‘Cause that’s what people do;
Though why we care about these things,
I haven’t got a clue.
I am excited.
A piece of candy.
Fell on the floor.
That has swirls.
But there is another piece.
In the bag.
Delicious.
The pizza guy is coming.
I thought I hated him.
But there is something about opening a door.
To someone.
But there is something about closing a door.
To stop the rain from coming in.
My sister is visiting.
I have pizza on the counter.
She put her umbrella in the corner.
She gave me a birthday gift.
The gift is perfect.
Yet feels empty.
My sister is like a stranger now.
I know her face very well.
Except her smile is different.
Older by just a bit.
Like a cake that was in the fridge for a bit too long.
And I regret forgetting about it.
She decided to stay overnight.
There was leftover pizza.
She doesn’t like green peppers like she used to.
I tried my best.
But I don’t think she liked how firm my pillows were.
I am sad.
A piece of candy.
Fell on the floor.
I was the last one after all.
weddian
By Mon Amoru Cheri
---------------------------
one said he wanted or needed a new story to tell.
So when he found out that a man had proposed
marrage to a beautifu and attractive woman: he
gathered up his gold nuggets and cashed them in.
"Aint no body marrying up round year ceptin me",
he told one of his freinds. I is more attractive
with this money and all.
"She is in the way of understanding now and she
knows this money is the best
money for her!" You aint even meet her yet and you is ah talkin
marrgage."His mind state is in need of
repairin cause I is tsking the bride to be as
someone for me, my wife!' T
They took the bag of gold where they thought the couple would be askin folk round town if they knew of ah gal fixin to marry" Well word spread among the folk, and they started laughing
when they heard the doings of these fellas. A group of elder came up with a plan. They got two folk to act like they were getting married
and say they were the folk
the fellas where a talkin bout.
We sunday after servicxes folk went into town. Thats where these fellas would be tryna find the couple who was ah-fixin to get hitched.
Well the actress and the actor saw them out there
and went out their to do there thing. The woman told the guy carrying the bag
she was half of the couple he was looking for.
Well he said Miss pretty person
I is a fixing to marry you since you is faincce' I got the money right here
let's say we is ah marrying. He poured the money out and it had seven gold nuggets in the bag.
The woman smiled and told the guy if you are forreal I'm be your wife, thats alottaa money, it's more than what these people were offering me to
do this gig! Historically, a "wed" was a pledge or a deposit given as a guarantee of an agreement. We gonna marrage up with out the modern formalities. Just the way the anceints wanted!"
We went shopping
The misses and me
And afterwards we went
To our favourite café for a tea
The misses decided
She wanted to visit her brother Jim
She said “Since we in town,
“I have somefink to give to him”
So off we go to the bank
That’s where he works
His a no body
Just one of many clerks
We approach the counter
Me misses says “I wanna see Jim”
“Tell him it’s his sister”
“And I have somefink for ‘im”
“By the way, she says
“He should have a parcel for me”
The manager behind the counter said
“Jim is out to lunch you see”
“Well said me misses give him this
She pulled out a potato peeler
The manager’s eyes open
He seemed a bit of a Sheila
He quickly turned around
And gave me misses a parcel
But wouldn’t take the potato peeler
The stupid **** hole
Off we went back home
I slumped in the chair and watched some TV
Later the misses brought the parcel
And sat next to me
She open the bag
And all of a sudden a loud exploding sound
I thought me misses was killed
From the wet splatters all around
I looked at her
What a sight
Her face and arms were evenly coated orange
Which, boy, gave me an even bigger fright
I looked down in the bag
It was filled with money
Covered in a bright orange dye
My throat dried, this was not funny
Moments later a knock on the door
Me misses answers and voices say we arresting you for theft
You have orange dye on you
So we need to search the house, step to the left
I peep out, there,
A bloody police van
Me misses says you will do no such thing
This is fake tan
She reaches in her bag
Out come a bottle of orange fake tan
The police apologies
And off they go in their van
The CCTV tapes they probe
Blank
And arrest the manager
For an inside job
For a whole month
I stayed at home washing me orange spots
I managed to fade them
And got a sick note for chicken pox.
Lily White
Being firm and money tight
Headed to the golden sands looking just right
There was Mr. Bourne and his mouth
Packing the cherries to go south
“Young lady what can I do for you?
Maybe a pint filled with my special brew?”
Looking at him
Innocently no sin
“This should be an easy win
Three points in the bag
Upper table move a good brag”
Everything packed away
Mr. Bourne had nothing to say
We are going somewhere to be on top
Develop a winning crop
Feeling sorry and remorse
Not needing to be seen in a porsche
Lily White did not open her net
Cherry pickers score they did not get
As for Lily still in her white
A draw ended the plight
Nothing on the board
Except cherries being stored
For the foxes weekend picking tour
Later on the Red Devils
Went looking for something below their level
Playing inside Aston’s Villa
Still a
Chance to pick off the buzz
And the west ham that never was
Due to a foul
Red Devils Bruno went POW
Before the half ended
Second goal green wood tended
A healthy break in the lopsided war
Turned Aston’s Villa into a boutique store
A hat trick was commenced
Ending the suspense
Aston was done
In a match they fantasied they won
A present for your mum and dad
was one they never had
the money that was in a bag
that you thought you would have
How much did you take
that found upon their bed
did you feel like you were great
what went through your head?
The bag containing money
contained my passport too
we never found the money
but my passport we did do
The money had been spent
all of it removed
but the passport never went
turned up in your room
Stolen by your hands
from the house in which you grew
all simply by chance
when it was found by you
Stealing from your family
the gift given by mine
no sense of morality
taking what you find
And if you steal from them
what they have in their home
then you will steal again
from anyone you’ve known
The gift that showed humanity
working truly at its best
was ruined by your savagery
you made the best depressed
I know you can’t be trusted
you’re a very selfish guy
even when you’re busted
you stick to your lie
Always blaming others
thrown under the bus
your sisters and brothers
everyone you crush
You never keep your word
it is always about you
yet feel that you deserve
to be celebrated too
My friend not worth knowing
doesn’t tell the truth
the lies just keep on flowing
my friend you have no use
And everyone believes them
thinking they are true
and as I’m never speaking
all they hear is you
Now within their judgement
I’m seen as what I’m not
it’s too late to prevent
opinions they’ve now got
So people think I’m weird
are never asking me
Know not how I appeared
or who I truly be
And you appear a saint
they’re in for a surprise
one I could prevent
I’d rather they realise
**"And his name was Jack"**
No one perceives what abides above the clouds.
A giant, a harp, maybe golden eggs.
I demand to see and feel before I believe.
A castle, a dream…. I want the magic beans!!!
~~~
I'm the daughter of a farmer.
I have a donkey to ride, a story to tell.
“Jack and the Beanstalk” my favorite tale.
Once upon a morbid dawn.
I inhale a tiny simple yawn
Like the morning sun levitating over the farm,
I rise towards the village square to sell my ass
Along the open path, my ass and I desired a drink.
Near the rustic river,
I'd seen an old Englishman, sitting on a log.
It looked as if time was approaching his brink.
In his hand, he had a sack.
A bag, a bag, embroil of ivory and black.
His eyes were not from this ground.
His body fragile - it uttered a moaning sound.
He was of dirt.
I was pure.
He pledged his life to me.
I debated .... with many thoughts,
Although his eyes...
My eyes... Will never meet again.
"I want what's in the bag!"
In a gasp, he whispers,
"I'll give you anything for that ass.
my legs and bones can’t hold up on their own!”
I knelt down to where he sat
Smelling his essence of rot
I reached forward and grabbed his baggage
He griped, "This bag is all I got!"
I answered, "And this sir is a fine ASS!"
He replied, "I have no cash."
Scowling at him, “NO I want your demon seeds!"
My blood grew thin...
Inhaling and exhaling - his sin
The old man all shriveled and timeworn,
Proposed the birthright of the seeds.
"Yes, plant them! Plant them!"
I cried excitedly!
He pats the field.
Said "there I am done,
now clock as it expands"
To breed this story short...
He dispenses his seeds.
AND, I GAVE HIM MY ASS.
BY;PD
I zip swiftly along on my snow machine,
admist a white blanket with spots of green,
my trapline runs along this stretch,
Alaskan cold makes smoke of breath.
The snowpack has been good this year,
goes a little way to allaying my fears,
but who knows what’s in the traps I set,
too early to count my dollars yet.
The first trap I find quite empty,
so I drive to the next, hoping to see…
A Marten! Yes! That’ll bring in cash,
he goes in the bag, then I’m off in a flash
I have many more long miles to go
across this bitter, cold, sub-arctic snow.
Some wonder why I come up north
where wolves are literally at my door.
Why do I make cash in this old way,
and in a tiny cabin have to stay
for three months out of every twelve,
away from my wife, and daughter, Isabelle.
I think then of ‘normal’ office work,
with gossiping cowokers, and a boss/jerk,
stuck every day in the same routine,
answering calls, staring at a screen,
Stuck in a cubicle, dull and beige,
waiting only for the day I get paid.
That’s what they same is normal, right?
How I’m ‘supposed’ to go about my life?
A life of punching clocks and paying bills,
if that’s what life is, give me the chill!
Out here my office is endless miles
of sculpted beauty and manly trials.
Never know what’s coming the next day,
be in caribou, wendigo, or snowstorm’s gray,
to me there is something to all that,
so I push onward to my next trap…
Look! Another Marten! Awesome.
once upon a mid-flight weary
my mind wandered in a hurry
as to he who sat beside the door
suddenly there was a yapping
as of someone's internal scrapping
t'is just a nut i thought and nothing more
quite distinctly then i remembered
my headphones were not in the bag upon the floor
as he who sat beside me began to snore
the sounds did chill me of his napping
a darkness dreaming of thunder clapping
as his voice kept repeating 'please....no more'
finally appeared the steward for just a minute
and watched he who slept beside loudly snore
mumbling and snoring noises and nothing more
then a microphoned voice announced we were landing
and the passenger beside me snapped out of his sanding
as the voice on the speaker announced 'leave by this door'
stan sand
I watched the New York Marathon.
A woman held the lead;
And everyone expected her
To win the race, indeed.
Another racer tagged behind
But halfway through, dropped back
And then the coast was clear –
To win, the leader was on track.
The race goes on for miles –
Twenty-six, to be exact;
When she hit twenty-three, we saw
A view the leader lacked.
Another runner’d closed the gap
And soon had passed her by,
With energy and confidence
In limitless supply.
The one who’d had the lead at first,
Ran fast as she would dare,
Yet in the end she lost,
A tortoise beaten by the hare.
I feel so bad for number two,
Whose spirits had to sag
When she saw slip away
What she was sure was in the bag.
But life is filled with elements
Of let-downs and surprise.
It’s foolish to trust certainty
Though it might tantalize.